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Tina
“Do you have any idea why anyone would need to access the old root cellars?” Tina asked Lottie later that evening.
“No. As far as I know, no one’s been down there since your grandfather passed. And even before then, you were the only one who enjoyed spending time there. What makes you ask?”
“I found the key in a jacket pocket. I think it’s Rick’s.”
Tina explained how she had gone snooping around the office, looking for anything that might explain the ever-increasing suspicion that something was afoot. “I need to get that key and find out what, if anything, he’s doing down there.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t imagine it’s anything good. What if he catches you?”
“He’ll be mad,” Tina said matter-of-factly. “But that’s par for the course.”
Rick was always pissed off at her for one reason or another. Sometimes, her mere existence seemed to agitate him.
“The male ego is a fragile thing. He’s threatened by you.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Rick was the eldest son, which meant he had been born with special privileges the rest of them didn’t have. He had been blessed with good health and a strong body. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but more often than not, his problems came from poor choices and not a lack of intelligence.
“Is it?” Lottie mused. She let the question hang between them for a moment before continuing, “In any event, I agree that your brother’s recent behavior suggests he’s gotten himself—and possibly all of you—into some real trouble.”
That was what Tina was afraid of, too. “Even more reason why I need to find out what’s going on.”
“I don’t like the idea of you sneaking around by yourself.”
“I can’t just sit idly by and wait for shit to hit the fan, Gram.”
“Have you tried talking to Gunther and Kiefer?”
“No,” Tina said, shaking her head. “Chances are, if Rick did do something stupid, Gunther was the one who’s behind it. I suppose I could try talking to Kief, but you know he doesn’t have the stones to stand up to Rick or Gunther.”
“What about your young man? He’s a SEAL, isn’t he? Perhaps he can help. If nothing else, he can have your six.”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Tina’s lips quirked. “You’ve been watching that show on television again, haven’t you? The one about Navy SEALs?”
“Well”—Lottie sniffed—“it’s quite educational. You should watch it, too. It could give you some valuable insight in your Dr. Watson. Those boys, they’re wired differently.”
That Tina already knew. Doc was unlike any man she’d ever met.
But she couldn’t involve him in this. It was one thing for her to go poking around. If she got caught, the most she’d catch was an earful. But if Doc were involved and Rick found out, tensions between Rick’s idiot friends and Sanctuary could escalate exponentially. She’d been keeping her relationship with Doc under wraps for exactly that reason even though she was now convinced her future lay with him.
When she told Lottie as much, the older woman was forced to admit she had a point.
“I still don’t like it,” Lottie told her.
“I know. But someone has to do it.”
“Just be careful, dear.”
“I will.”
* * *
One thing about older houses, every door had its own key.
Another thing: there was usually a skeleton key that unlocked them all.
And Tina knew where the skeleton key was because her grandfather had given it to her.
Whether it would work on the root cellars, she didn’t know. But she was about to find out.
Under the cover of darkness, Tina made her way across the fields on foot toward the hill that housed the underground cellars. The good news was, the entrance wasn’t visible from the family farmhouse where she’d grown up and Rick now lived.
The first cellar had been built next to where the original homestead once stood, back in the days when underground springs served as natural refrigerators. That house had been little more than a shack, a humble home for the first Obermacher to settle in the area.
The cellars had a fascinating history. Over the years, generations of Obermachers had expanded on the single-room storage area to a larger network now consisting of several chambers. Not only were the constant cool temperatures ideal for storing root crops throughout the year, but they were also good for crafting and aging wine, mead, and grain-based alcohols—something that had become particularly lucrative for her great-great-grandfather, Ezekiel Obermacher, during the Prohibition era.
According to Tina’s grandfather, Ezekiel had expanded his business by employing dozens of local anthracite miners to create secret tunnels and passageways in exchange for free hooch.
By the time Tina had come along, most of those tunnels had been closed off and the stills long since disassembled, but for a little girl who was forced to spend the hottest, sunniest parts of the day inside, it was a magical, secret place. She’d wiled away quite a few hours there with her grandfather, listening to his stories and drinking juice while he experimented.
Tina believed that was where her passion had originated. He had encouraged her to try new things, to keep improving, and to always strive for something better.
A wave of nostalgia and lingering grief washed over her. She missed her grandfather terribly. He’d passed away before she earned her degree, but she thought he would have been proud. At least, she hoped he would have been.
Tina took a deep breath and slid the skeleton key into the ancient lock. She had to jiggle it a little, but a moment later, it settled into place, and with a turn of her wrist, the lock opened with a decisive snick.
The scents of cool, damp earth, stone, and wood filled her nostrils, bringing back a slew of memories. Reaching into her pocket, she extracted a powerful halogen flashlight and turned it on.
At first glance, the entrance looked much the way it always had—a gateway to another time and place. Massive wooden beams and stonework kept the walls and ceiling from collapsing inward. Along the right side was the stone-lined trench, where spring-fed water continued to flow in a gentle trickle. To the left, hand-smithed black metal rods protruded from between the rocks. Their original purpose had been lost to history, but Tina believed they’d once held oil lamps and sacks of foodstuff suspended above the packed dirt floor.
When she directed the beam downward, she spotted several small tire tracks, like those from a hand truck, in the dirt floor and frowned. They looked fresh, too clearly defined to have been there for long. She followed them into one of the interior chambers, where several crates had been shoved against the wall.
Those definitely hadn’t been there before.
Curiosity getting the better of her, Tina pried off one of the lids and peered inside, gasping when she saw the contents. Guns. Lots and lots of guns. And not the kind they sold at Jenkins’s Sporting Goods.
She lifted one out carefully to take a closer look. It reminded her of those she’d seen armed guards carrying during one of her trips to South America.
“Bert!”
Tina swung around at the sound of her brother’s voice, finding him in a shadowy recess at the far end of the chamber. “Rick! What the actual hell?”
He quickly closed the space between them, removed the automatic weapon from her hands, and returned it to the crate. “You shouldn’t be here. You have to leave.”
“These shouldn’t be here,” she said, waving her hand toward the crates. “Why are they?”
His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The less you know, the better. And you need to leave. Right now.”
“Oh no. You don’t get to pull that crap. You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“Tina”—Rick’s large hands closed around her shoulders in a strong grip and shook lightly—“you can’t be here.”
The sound of footsteps came from deeper within. Rick’s eyes were as desperate as she’d ever seen them, and in that moment, she felt his fear.
“Please.”
“You’re going to explain this.”
He hesitated. The footsteps were getting closer. His head dipped in a jerky nod.
“I mean it, Rick.”
He spun her around. “Go!” he hissed with a shove.
She did. She was nearly to the door when she heard the murmur of male voices. As much as she wanted to know who was in there and what they were doing, Rick’s desperate plea and the genuine fear she’d seen in his eyes kept her moving.
* * *
It was after midnight when Rick finally showed up at her cottage. She opened the door and waved him in. Without a word, he stepped over the threshold and sank down into one of the two chairs at her small table.
She sat down, too, holding the questions burning on her tongue. She knew from experience that if she laid into him too quickly, he’d get his back up, and things would devolve into a battle.
He sat there in silence for so long that she began to think he wouldn’t say anything at all. He continued to stare at the table, looking tired. Tired and despondent.
It unnerved her. The last time she’d seen him look that way, he’d had to explain to their father how he’d lost a full-paid football scholarship and been expelled from the university.
“What’s going on, Rick?” she coaxed softly.
“Do you still keep a bottle of bourbon around here?”
Bourbon suddenly sounded like a good idea. Tina got up, got the bottle and two glasses, and then poured them each a few fingers. Rick tossed his back and poured another right away.
“I made some bad investments,” he said finally.
“You made some bad investments?” she asked skeptically. “Or Gunther did?”
Rick’s mouth twisted. “We all did, I guess. It was supposed to be a sure thing. Gunther said Luther had inside info.”
Luther. Tina should have known he was involved somehow. The guy was bad news wrapped in a shiny, smooth-talking package.
“But ...” she prompted.
“But something went wrong. And before you ask, I don’t know what exactly. All I know is, we’re fucked.”
“How fucked?”
Rick looked miserable. “We leveraged everything. Bet the whole farm.”
The true horror of the situation began to dawn on her. “You did what?”
“He was so sure,” Rick murmured.
“There must be something—”
“There’s not,” he said abruptly, cutting her off. “We’re going to have to sell. Gunther’s been talking with some developers. He thinks he can get us a decent deal.”
Tina shook her head. “No. No! It’s not possible. It can’t be that bad.”
Rick lifted his eyes and met hers. His gaze said more than words ever could. He believed it was. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try to find a way out. There had to be some recourse. A four-hundred-year-old legacy farm didn’t just go belly up overnight.
“What about those guns? What do they have to do with anything?”
Rick exhaled. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I don’t want you involved.”
“But I did, and apparently, I am involved.”
“Luther said he could fix things. He just needed some cash to work with.”
“And you thought dealing in illegal arms was the way to do that?” she asked in disbelief.
“It’s not like that,” he said irritably.
“Oh? You’re telling me the weapons in that crate are legal? Should I call Chief Freed to come check them out?”
“Where do you think they came from?” he said with a humorless laugh.
Sadly, Tina should have been more shocked than she was. “Friedrich Elias Obermacher, what the hell is going on? Straight up. No bullshit.”
The fact that Rick didn’t argue, just exhaled and nodded, told her more than anything that he’d lost all hope.
“Dwayne met a guy when he did time downstate.”
Dwayne was the police chief’s son and at one time, Rick’s best friend. He’d gotten into some trouble outside his daddy’s jurisdiction. Unlike every other time, Daryl hadn’t been able to get him out of it, and Dwayne had been sentenced to a prison down around Philly somewhere.
“They got to talking about hunting and shit, and this guy told Dwayne he could get his hands on some quality firearms for cheap. When Dwayne got out, the guy hooked him up, and Dwayne brought a few pieces with him to the compound.”
“The hunting camp?” Tina asked.
Everyone knew about the private encampment on the Freed family’s mountain parcel. Many of the guys in town were members and used the club as an excuse to drink beer, shoot guns, and get away from their wives and kids on the weekends.
Rick nodded. “They were pretty slick. I’m talking military-grade, black ops shit, like the kind your friends are trained in and probably stockpiling up there at Sanctuary.”
Tina was about to protest but held her tongue. She didn’t think they were doing that, but she couldn’t prove that they weren’t, and she wanted to stay on topic.
“So ... Dwayne brings cool new toys to the playground,” she said, moving her hand in a circular motion to get Rick to continue.
“Yeah, well, everyone wanted one. Including me.”
Tina had a feeling she knew where this was going. “Let me guess. Gunther’s eyes turned green.”
It was an inside family joke that Gunther’s blue eyes turned green when he saw an opportunity to make money.
Rick nodded. “At first, we just got enough for us, you know? But Gunther saw the potential and figured other survivalist groups might want in, too. He was right. The demand was there. We even had a waiting list.”
“This was the sure thing you were talking about?” she asked quietly.
“Money was rolling in. Luther said he could double or triple it, so we gave it to him to invest. Everything was fine until those Sanctuary fuckers got Dwayne put back in the slammer,” Rick said with vehemence. “Dwayne’s contact got nervous. He didn’t want to go back to prison and ghosted, leaving us with orders to fill.
“It was just as well. Demand was greater than he was willing or able to supply anyway. Gunther found an alternate supplier, one who could think beyond a couple of crates now and then. But they demanded more—a lot more—up front. Gunther said if we pooled our resources, we’d make bank.”
“And you didn’t even think to question it? You just went along with him?” Tina felt cold and hollow.
“Gunther said it was a good investment. It was risky, sure, but Luther assured us we had plenty to play with,” Rick said again, as if the thought of Gunther being wrong or Luther being dishonest was incomprehensible. “We weren’t going to do it forever. I thought we could make a few bucks and put it back into the farm, you know? Get some new equipment and bring in some of that eco-friendly shit you’re going on about all the time.”
A pang of guilt went through her. She had been pushing for incorporating wind turbines and solar power and earth-friendly farming techniques for years. Was part of this unknowingly her fault?
“So, what happened?”
“It went too far. Things got out of hand,” Rick said, running his hand over his face. “We’re in too deep.”
“I don’t believe that. There must be something we can do.”
Rick shook his head. “It’s too late, Bert. Our only option is to sell. If we don’t, we’ll wind up in jail.” His eyes met hers. “Or worse. These aren’t the kind of guys who issue idle threats if we don’t hold up our end.”